Haunted Past

Chapter 35

There was a moment of silence as the floorboards creaked and the wood in the fire crackled. The arm around his waist let go and Modric moved. Orin lowered his head, not sure what to do. He needed to behave. He needed for Modric to help him, and that meant obeying whatever came next. Hands pull and tugged at him before lifting his hips up. Orin found himself straddling Modric's legs as the man settled back on the headboard.

Before falling to sleep, Orin had taken off his trousers. He was only wearing the sleeping shirt, and it was creeping up his thighs. The urge to yank it down like a schoolgirl washed over him, but the whispers of Madame Silvere, Ailin's teacher in things behind doors, danced in the back of his mind. Orin was pretty sure Modric didn't want a blushing virgin in his bed. Warriors preferred partners, both loves and whores, to be more hands-on and feisty. Right now, Orin wished he could pull the facade of being a maiden around him and wear it as armour. Modric was nothing if not a warrior first.

"You have a loyal friend there." Modric's hand rubbed circles against the bare flesh.

Orin focused on his breathing but nodded. "Forgive him, he's a little," clingy, "protective at the moment. I may be stronger than I was, but he kept me alive when I was nothing more than skin and bones." The words were rambling, and Orin ended the sentence harshly, almost audibly cutting himself off. This wasn't about Ailin.

"Nothing wrong with a protective friend," Modric said. There was a moment where neither of them spoke. Both waiting for the other to make the first move. The air seemed the crackle between them with tension. Orin kept his eyes low, fixing them rigidly on Modric's torso. He was wearing a dark green tunic with brown trousers. The top was simple, not expensive looking in the slightest, though Orin did not doubt that it was high quality and meant to last. There was a sound of annoyance as Modric lost his patience. The hands stopped rubbing, gripping the muscles tightly and yanking Orin closer.

Orin yelped, hands falling onto Modric's chest for balance. He rested his forehead against Modric's chest, painfully aware of how much of his skin was pressing against the man. The hands sat on his hips and Modric nudged him with his chin.

"Look at me, Orin Vonn." Modric's voice echoed with power. Not magic, something more than that. A right of a monarch to rule over people and command with absolute certainty.

It was such a simple order. Yet obeying was impossible for a brief second. Every muscle inside of him froze. He needed to try. Good boys obeyed without question. The lives of his family depended on him being a good boy. Orin swallowed and lifted his head, but could not look directly at him.

The chest under his fingers rumbled. A hand reached up and tilted his chin the rest of the way, fingers pressing into his jawline. And there it was. The face of the man who had haunted his dreams and ruled his nightmares for so very long. The orange glow of the firelight made the shadows harsher than in daylight, but Orin had seen this face contorted in the fury of battle. The expression at the moment was far softer than the ones he'd faced in the past. Judging and claiming, but not the fury Orin had feared for so long. A short and well-maintained beard decorated his chin, parts of it grey and part Modric's natural black. The rest of Modric's hair was black, but there were a few strands of grey reflecting in the light.

Old scars still rested on the square jaw, but there was a new one lying above his eyebrow, stretching diagonally from just under the brow to into Modric's hairline. The eyebrows were thick and bushy, but some care had gone into them. Ion's doing, Orin suspected. The man cared far more about Modric's appearance than Modric himself. Modric was a warrior, not a merchant, but Ion liked to point out he was also an Emperor. Over two years later, Orin doubted that had changed.

"My eyes are a little lower than that," Modric said. His voice held a tone which was a warning unto itself, despite the slight note of amusement.